


Quarterly

by Superstition_hockey



Series: Depth on the Bench [23]
Category: Original Work
Genre: A professional in a semi-constant state of dissappointment, Conservation farming, F/F, Happy Ending, Heart Attacks, Hospital Setting, In the most boring investment way possible, Luc - unwitting sugar baby, Luc is a good bro, Luc's long suffering accountant, Medical issues, Megan is family, Non-Linear Narrative, Off-season Luc, Project Spreadsheet, Super Secret Rebel Alliance, aka Luc paid more attention to Star Wars than he admits, growing older, outsider pov, standalone chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstition_hockey/pseuds/Superstition_hockey
Summary: "The list of people in a semi-constant state of professional disappointment with Luc is already too large (his housekeeper, YCP, Stacie “we need to talk about your knee” the PT, his lawyer, Don “I’m just saying maybe he’s too pretty to play hockey” Cherry, his other lawyer, Megan “please talk to me before you make open ended charity promises on the internet again” Nunez his accountant, the entire city of San Jose, Daniel from PR, Pat “please tell me you deleted that video” Brisson)."Megan Nunez, long suffering accountant and her favorite client.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A quartet of standalone ficlets about Luc's long suffering accountant.

If she wasn't so unfairly _fond_ of him, she'd be annoyed, because he was definitely asleep. Luc Chantal, dressed in blue joggers, a tank top with armholes big enough he was in danger of showing nipple, and a backwards snapback, had fallen asleep mid quarterly review. His eyelashes rested against his cheeks, his lips just barely open; slouched over in one of her plush office chairs, he was softly snoring. 

"Luc!"

Those absurd eyelashes fluttered open. "For sure." He smiled at her like he hadn't been dead asleep two seconds before, "Good idea, Megs, go for it." 

"Luc. You were asleep."

"I was listening. Just resting my eyes " 

"You were snoring." 

He shrugs and smiles at her, not fussed at all of being called out. "Henri's colicky." 

Megan smiles despite herself. "How's your family?"

Luc’s smile gets bigger. "Amazing. Crash is doing great, but I think she's more stressed about leaving Henri when she goes to Fiji than she thought she'd be."

"It's gonna be hard." 

"We're gonna meet back up with her this summer, but, yeah, it'll be a hard adjustment. How's Jess?"

"Cranky. Nesting. Wanting to paint every damn wall in the house a different color." Luc's eyes are fond but they don't have the time to get side tracked. 

"So, you're tired." She continues, “You want a coffee? I can have Lisa bring us something." 

He shakes his head. "Trying to limit my caffeine. I'm alright. It's just...Megs, come on, why do I… why are you telling me about some US farm bill in the Senate?"

"Because it affects your farm." 

"My… what. I don't have a farm, that's Buddy and Yasha." 

"Luc, I am Very Good at my job. I am the best. I plan athletes’ finances so that their limited earning period is extended through diversification of portfolios. When I talked to you about diversifying assets into real estate last year…" 

"We bought an investment property in New Jersey or something." 

"And you're backing a sustainability startup in Ecuador, and you bought 5,000 acres of ranch land in Alberta and another five in North Dakota. You were at the closing."

"There was like a week last summer where all I did was sign shit, it all kind of blurred together." 

"Jesus, Luc, you're lucky I'm honest."

"Jacks reads over this shit, he's just in Toronto right now. Wait, so, I'm like… a farmer?"

"You are absolutely not a farmer. Eddie and Gus, and Lori and Hazel, the people who operate your land, are farmers. You're a spoiled professional athlete who pays their bills and falls asleep at 11 am in a meeting with your accountant." 

Luc blithely ignores that. "Do I have _cows_???”

"Your ranch in Alberta is an Audubon-certified conservation ranch. You have extremely eco-friendly cows, and you have a variety of endangered wild birds. A lot of the North Dakota land is actually devoted to Wetland Mitigation Bank acres, so you… grow duck habitat more than soybeans or wheat, but there's some cover crops, and a lot of bee hives, and what I'm trying to talk to you about is new incentives for native prairie grass planting. It's not particularly profitable but so far you always break even, and land is always a good long-term investment." 

"So I grow grass. And wild birds." 

"And maybe bison. Gus has ideas " 

"Is that… huh. That's what my dad was talking about, with the bird habitat outside Calgary." 

"You are killing me, please read your fucking emails."

"How do… isn't that… Jacks and I don't make _that_ much money."

"By default you make twice what the average NHL star makes because you and Jacks both are earning that much. Plus endorsements, plus all the positive net growth _I've _ made you, plus Hellermann, of course."

"Grant?" He cocks his head to the side, a little like a puppy. It's excessively charming and just as irritating. 

"Luc. You told me. I have written confirmation, you said, ‘Yeah, whatever he wants, it’s cool, he wants to invest or something.’"

"But what…"

"He's been… investing… in your investments…."

"What does that mean?"

"He contributes, monetarily, towards your investment plans and--" 

"Why... would he do that? I didn't know he did that!"

"You didn't?"

"Why…"

Megan feels the beginning of a headache in her temples. "Well, I don't know the man's mind but if I had to guess I'd say reason number one has something to do with you batting your eyelashes at him, and much less altruistically, reason number two, it's a useful place for him to store money, which is always something billionaires are on the search for."

"I'm… tax sheltering him?" Luc frowns. 

"Not exactly. You definitely pay taxes. The money he invests in your farms also go towards paying taxes, and… has a nice, transparent taxable trail, but it's probably better for his taxes than if he just kept that money sitting in a bank account somewhere, yes." 

"Why … I mean, we're just friends, Megs, I'm not sucking his dick on the reg or anything -- he doesn't need to…"

"Luc, Grant Hellermann doesn't seem like the sort of man that has a lot of real friends, so that probably means more to him than if you were sucking his dick. You know he set up a trust fund for Sasha and Henri, each."

"Yeah," Luc says softly, "I definitely know he did that." Megan knows, personally, that Luc and Jacks had their own arrangements to make sure their kids were taken care of, but Grant had talked to them earnestly about wanting to set up the trusts for their kids and it’s much harder to say no when something's for your children. 

"Hey!" Luc shakes off the soft look on his face and grins. "Is _that_ why that Conservation thing wants me to do an interview? I'm a conservationist??? I thought it was because of the sea turtle thing!" 

"Luc. Please focus. Cinn can talk to you about your press. Prairie grass."

"Oh, for sure." He stretches one long leg and nudges her foot with his Adidas slide. "Go for it, Megs, you never lead me wrong."

Megan attempts to glare at him. "Fuck’s sake, knock on wood. You are the luckiest damn fool I've ever met."

Chantal stretches, arms back above his head, and yawns. "'course I'm lucky. Jacks married me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There little standalone ficlet chapters are non-linear timeline-wise so this chapter happens before chapter 1 - and for those of you who care about such things, happens during the same summer as Phase Changes

“So,” Megan starts. “Jess, babe. About this weekend.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Jess puts down her fork and looks over the table at her helplessly. “Don’t… I knew you had to be breaking bad news to me when we came here. Are you really cancelling again?” 

Megan’s heart clenches. “I’m not cancelling.” 

“You’re not? Because you’re wearing your ‘I’m going to have to work this weekend’ face.” 

“I’m not cancelling,” Megan says, firmly, “but I do have to work. I just wanted to see if... how set are you on your plans for the weekend?” 

“I already made reservations at the winery and the bed and breakfast.” The crestfallen look is turning into a combo of resignation and anger and Megan is… god, she is _not_ going to lose this woman for her work, she’s not. Megan thought the summer would be easier, dating Jess. Megan’s schedule is so busy, and Jess, a high school biology teacher, is just as busy during the school year. Megan had hoped that in the summer, when Jess would have off, they would have more time together, but all it’s really meant is that Jess’s free time more drastically highlights how often Megan isn’t available. Megan _knows_ Jess has been planning this weekend getaway to a vineyard for weeks. “I was really looking forward to a weekend away with you, is all,” Jess continues, jaw forward and stubborn, but eyes defeated and looking at her plate. 

Megan reaches across the table and takes Jess’s hand. “Your passport’s not expired, right?”

“Ummm… no?” 

“What if--how would you feel if we called to see if we could change our reservations for some time next month, and this weekend you went with me to Paphos?”

“What the… Paphos? Isn’t that in Greece?”

“It’s on the island of Cyprus, actually. I… Well, one of my clients has basically hunkered down in a villa there for the off-season. He asked if I could fly out there for our summer quarterly and when I hesitated, he said to bring you and make a long weekend of it. He’ll put aside some guest rooms for us, and I’ll have… basically a three-hour meeting with him is all the business I’ll need to do, and we can spend the rest of the weekend on the beach. We can leave Friday, come back Monday.”

“He’s… going to fly two people out to the Meditteranean for a three-hour meeting. You can’t just Skype?” 

Megan shrugs. “Rich people.” 

Jess laughs a little, the tension in her shoulders dissipating. “He sounds like he’s terrible with money, maybe he needs a better accountant.” 

“A blow,” Megan pronounces, dramatically, miming a knife wound to her chest. And then she adds, more seriously, “We do Skype, for most of our meetings, but I sort of insist on our quarterly reviews being in person, especially with him. It’s too easy, if you’re not physically looking a person in the face, in the same room, for their money, their future, to feel really… academic. And he’s one of my more hands-off clients, so I insist that we have real physical meetings, and I show him real physical documents, a few times a year.” 

“Three hours...” Jess’s voice is tentative. “You promise, that’s all… you’ll...” 

“Three hours. I promise. And we’ll spend the rest of the weekend eating gelato and playing on the beach together.” 

Jess’s face goes wistful. “I’ve never been to the Mediterranean.” 

Megan rubs her thumb over Jess’s knuckles. “Well, we should fix that then, huh.” 

Megan sort of expected Luc to send a car, or something, but she doesn’t know why she expected that, except it’s what most of her other clients would do. Instead, Luc’s there himself, with Oliver waiting at arrivals. They’re both suntanned, and Luc looks loose and happy in a way he really _hadn’t_ when she’d seen him late this past spring and he’d looked tight, and miserable, hungry and hollow and wound up like a coil. He’s in swim trunks and a white ribbed tank top. Oliver is dressed more for an airport, in khaki shorts and a white linen shirt. Luc wraps her in a hug, smelling like warm sunscreen and salt. 

“Megs, thank you for coming, bro,” he says, stepping out of their hug, “and thank you for humoring me. Is this the amazing Jess you tell me about so much?”

Jess blushes, just faintly, and Megan watches at the full force of Luc Chantal’s charm focuses on her. Megan should have warned her, really. “Well, I’m definitely Jess.” She holds her hand out to shake and Luc takes it firmly, pulls her into his patented half back-slap half air-cheek-kiss. Megan hadn’t known it was possible to make la bise look bro-y until she’d met Luc Chantal. It should be weirdly overly-familiar for meeting a stranger, but somehow Luc always manages to make it feel less like a personal space invasion and more like you’ve never been strangers, like you’re already dear friends. 

Oliver gives Megan a smiling hand-shake after Luc has introduced him to Jess. “Thanks, Megan,” he says quietly while Luc makes small-talk with Jess and they walk towards the baggage claim, “I know this has got to be inconvenient for you, but I just… this post-season was hard. I didn’t want to break up the… good thing we had going on here.” 

“Okay,” Jess says that night as she walks out of the steam-filled ensuite in her bathrobe, after a long soak in a giant tub. She leans against the open door out to the balcony. “I’m officially not mad at you anymore.” 

Megan steps behind her to wrap her arms around her, rests her chin on her shoulder. “It’s pretty nice. I’m sorry I’ve been working so hard.” It is… well, ‘nice’ doesn’t do it justice. The balcony overlooks the ocean, starry sky reflected on the waves, and the sea breeze carries a fragrance into the room -- jasmine growing in the pots in the garden. Myrtle. Roses. Megan can’t imagine that it was Luc that thought of it -- maybe Oliver or the housekeeping staff -- but someone had left a basket of bath bombs and massage oils in the bathroom, roses in a vase by the bed, chocolate on the pillows. Like a hotel room booked for a romantic weekend. Cheesy, but sweet. 

“I can’t believe how many people are in this house.” Jess hums, leaning back against Megan, sinking into her arms, eyes drifting out to the coastline. “It’s packed with their friends. I think of places like this as being big and empty and lonely, but they’ve filled it up.” 

“Mmmm,” Megan agrees, kissing the side of Jess’s brow, “come to bed.” 

“Oh, alright, although -- Oh my god!” Jess squeaks in surprise and then backs up, making Megan stumble backwards. “Oh. We should.. We should go inside, and close the--” 

Megan looks out, over the balcony, following Jess’s gaze. and then groans. Fucking idiots. Fucking idiots, she thinks, as she looks down the line of beach, a few hundred meters away, at the shadow of two figures wrapped around each other in the foam of the surf. “They’re gonna get papped one day,” Megan groans. “I should…” 

“You should take me to bed.” 

“I should text someone to go tell them to get a room.” 

“You get thirty seconds.” Jess smiles, mischief in her eyes and bathrobe sliding off her shoulder. “Or you lose your shot.” She’s joking, Megan’s pretty sure, but fuck, she loves that teasing look in her eye. 

Megan fumbles her phone out of her pocket, texts Beatriz Teixeira a quick _Can you get Luc and Oliver inside_ and then takes another few precious seconds to text Ava Smith, “Cinn” as Luc had introduced them, a _Luc needs another lecture about cameras_ text before tossing her phone and sweeping Jess up in her arms just as the bathrobe flutters to the ground. 

“Three seconds to spare,” she grins, biting gently at Jess’s neck.

Later, Jess eats a chocolate contemplatively, fingers laced with Megan’s between them. “I thought you were getting tired of me, pulling away.” 

Megan squeezes her hand. “_No,_” she whispers, fierce. “Jess. Never.” She rolls over and buries her face in the crux of Jess’s sweat damp shoulder “I’m a workaholic, Jess, but I… No, I could never get tired of you.” 

“When you were busy in March and April, I understood… tax season, or whatever, but the end of July? It seems like it’d be your slow time of year for you.” 

Megan hums, sneaks a hand to the soft curve of Jess’s belly and down, “Summer is the time of year where a lot of my clients spend a lot of money, frequently in a lot of stupid ways. Sometimes I have to do a lot of… shuffling, for them. Especially if they’re buying big stuff like Ferraris and also spending big amounts of cash on stuff they don’t want me to know about, and it just… it can get messy, for some of their accounts. Sometimes I have to do a lot of scrambling.”

“Have you ever thought about cutting down on the number of clients you have,” Jess asked quietly, “and maybe just focusing on the… less shitty ones?” 

“Yeah,” Megan admits, “I’ve thought about that, I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t want… I don’t want to miss time with you.” 

“Not this one, though,” Jess teases, “I like this client. Wait, he’s not… he’s not… doing … asshole… stuff, right?” 

“Not that I could tell you about what my clients spend money on,” Megan says, “but, uh, no, no one we’ve seen recently is a person who I’ve ever hypothetically had to shuffle money around like a game of find-the-lady to keep presents to a mistress from his wife, or something.” 

“Gross.” Jess makes a face. “I’m glad… I’m glad they’re not like that. I like them.” 

“Oh, one afternoon and you’re already under the Luc Chantal spell, I see how it is.” Megan teases. 

Jess kisses her, slow and sweet. “I’m under _your_ spell. I just want more time with you. And I like how he talks to you. So I’m glad he’s not a jerk.” 

“I’m under your spell, too,” Megan breathes and thinks about the little velvet box she’d packed, half hoping and half thinking it would be too soon, that there’s no way Jess would say yes with how busy Megan had been the past few months. 

Thinks, absurdly, of the way Luc grinned at her, after dinner and said, "You know the beach down the road is where Aphrodite was born. If you wanted to take Jess on a walk while you're here," in that way he had, like it was real, like a goddess stepping out of the foam was a well documented event that happened a couple of decades ago, not a myth, and Oliver had rolled his eyes and wrapped his hand around Luc's and said, "he's been googling how to be romantic again."

"Gotta put in the work if you want the W," Luc had laughed, eyes warm and full of some private joke between him and his husband. 

Maybe, Megan thinks, heart lurching, she'll drop a few clients, and just keep the good ones. Maybe, when they get back, they'll go to that vineyard Jess wanted to visit. Maybe, tomorrow, she and Jess can take a walk along the beach, and Megan can ask a question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to dangercupcake, as always, for wrangling my commas and fixing all my absent minded punctuation.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey Luc,” Megan says when he picks up. She can hear some noise, in the background, like he’s not alone -- men’s laughter, some kind of music. It’s late. Megan’s the only one still here in her office; Lisa and Greg went home hours ago, but she’s been sorting out three different messes from two different clients today and she just needs to let Chantal know about this, which isn’t even one of the messes, and she can go home, eat a plate full of her sister’s leftover lasagna, and watch _The Office_ reruns until she falls asleep. 

“Megs!” She can hear him _grinning_ through the phone. “Hold on, one sec.” And then, further away, but _louder_, “TA GUEULE, ASSHOLES, I’M TALKING TO AN IMPORTANT BUSINESS LADY.” His accent is just a tad stronger, just a little, like he’s had maybe two drinks, or is tired too. 

“Désolé,” Chantal says back in her ear. “What’s up? Is it about those forms? I forgot the forms. I can probably find them again… actually, maybe you can just send them again? And I will sign them. Like, totally for real this time.” 

“I am not calling about the forms, I don’t need the forms until next Tuesday. My scheduled annoying reminders about those don’t start until Thursday.” She doesn’t _actually_ need those forms until two Tuesdays from now, but, Megan is used to athletes and she’s learned to build herself cushions. 

“Oh, for sure,” Chantal says, “so, what’s up?”

“I’m just calling to let you know that your AirCanada Mastercard is frozen for the moment. There were some suspicious charges, but your AmEx and your Visa are still fine, and I’m in the process of putting in a fraud claim right now, so you’ll be fine, you just won't be able to use that card until we get you a new one.”

“Oh, no worries -- hey, what were the charges?” 

“A bunch of charges overseas -- storage units in Thailand and Australia, and about ten grand worth of charges between three shops in Fiji, Capetown and some little place just outside Port Elizabeth in South Africa.”

“Oh.” There’s a laugh to his voice. “Bro, that was me.” 

“It wasn’t you, Luc. The IP address of the charges was some place in Mexico. You’re in Chicago right now.” She feels a little ridiculous, telling him his own location, but, honestly, sometimes she wonders. 

“No, I mean, not me, like, literally, or whatever, but I gave that card to Crash and she put the numbers in this Google Docs thing and sent to this girl, uh…. Fuck… her name’s like Maja or something, to take care of all that.” 

“You. What.” She’s speechless, she’s actually…

“Yeah, because of the whole surfboard thing, and I’m like way too busy, but Crash said she’d handle it, but she’s really busy and Maja is super motivated, you know, about spreadsheets and the whole _Project_ or whatever, so I’m just sort of letting her run with it.” 

“Luc.”

“Oh, hey, I know I’m not supposed to say ‘girl’, it’s ‘woman” but I think she’s actually a girl, Loops says she’s in high school still, or something, she’s her cousin.” 

Megan takes three breaths. Then she says, “Luc, I’m going to put the phone down for a second, hold on, okay, I’ll be right back.” 

“Oh, yeah, no worries, brah.” 

Megan sets the phone down very carefully. She stands and walks out of her office into the bathroom, shuts the door, grabs her hair, and screams for 25 seconds. Then she takes three more deep breaths, splashes water on her face from the sink, dries her face off with paper towels, and walks back into her office. 

“So,” she continues and she is so proud of how calm her voice sounds. “Explain to me, Luc, from the beginning, why you gave your credit card, IN A GOOGLE DOCS PAGE, to a 16 year old girl in Mexico.” 

“Because of the surfboards,” Luc repeats, in a patient sort of tone. “I told you about the surfboards.” 

“You did not.” 

“I didn’t?” 

“Oh! Well I meant to. So you know, there’s like… you know, there’s the whole patriarchy and stuff.” 

“I’m aware. Yes.”

“Well, all these guy surfers have surf boards all over the world, right? When they’re surfing, they have surf boards and they just… hear about a great swell somewhere and they buy a ticket and they fly to that place and then they have a storage unit there and they get their surfboard that they leave at that country and then they go surf.” 

“Okay.” 

“These guys have spreadsheets, color-coded spreadsheets, _who does that_, about what gear they have and where. And Crash says, you know, she finally feels like she’s legit because she has a board stashed in Hawaii, but she doesn’t have a _spreadsheet_ and Loops was like yeah we’ll know we’re for real when we need a spreadsheet and then I had a _ a plan_ and we worked together on _the plan_ and Loops called it Project Spreadsheet and we made a pact, and basically we bought a bunch of extra boards for women that Crash and Loops knew who were trying to really make progress in Big Wave surfing, hey -- this was this summer, don’t you remember when I was in Tahiti and you told me it was annoying when I took so much cash out at once? Don’t you remember, it was for the boards.”

She did remember that. She definitely hadn’t asked what he took the money out for. 

“Luc, when my clients take large amounts of cash out of their bank account overseas, most of the time I don’t want to know what it’s for, for legal reasons.”

There’s a stunned silence. “Your clients sound like douchebags,” Luc says, “anyway, it was for the boards, and I have no idea why we did it in cash, I can’t remember, I think it was just because of all the pineapple drinks. But Project Spreadsheet was totally successful, because we made a spreadsheet and Crash bought storage units and we wrote on all the boards and we mailed them to the places and all the surfers got the boards and put them in the storage units with everyone’s names on them, but then Crash said it got to be too much, trying to keep track of everybody’s boards in all the units, so we decided to put Loops’ cousin in charge of the spreadsheet, because she’s really good at it, and she’s surfing, too, she was in some kind of junior WSL thing and won in France, so she’s handling the spreadsheet now, and last time I talked to Crash we decided it was time for Phase 2.0 because she’d gotten a lot of new requests, so yeah… we sent the list to Maja and Maja hooked everyone up. Team Spreadsheet.” 

“Okay.” Megan says after three seconds more of stunned silence. “Okay. Okay. I want to talk to you about a couple of things, about this, but first, I just -- what were you thinking, giving your credit card number to a stranger and putting it on the internet, Luc… you can’t do that. You _can’t_ do that.”

“She’s not going to _steal_ from me.” Luc sounds outraged. “Or give it to her friends or something. She’s on the _honor roll_. She’s _good at spreadsheets_. She’s Loops’ cousin and Loops’ abuela loves me, so she’s basically my cousin too. And also, we already thought of the internet thing that’s why the google doc is password protected.”

“Luc.”

“It’s a really long password.” 

“Moving on,” Megan says, deciding she’ll revisit the google docs topic in a minute, “Did it not occur to you, that _maybe_ if you were PERSONALLY SPONSORING every woman in a fucking professional sports team, that that would be something I would like to know about so I could make it into a real, tax-exempt nonprofit?”

“Um… no, not really. Are you _mad at me_?”

“I am… frustrated… by this situation.”

“And a little mad at me.” 

“And a little mad at you.”

“Désolé, Megs, I thought I told you about Project Spreadsheet, but, uh...well, actually, to be honest that was right before I got traded, so I could have forgotten to tell you. Désolé. Do you want me to get Loops to call Maja and get her to send you the link to the stuff?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Oh! Hey! You’re probably pretty good at spreadsheets too!”

“I am, in fact, very good at them.” 

“That’s cool, bro, seriously, I’m way shit at them. One time my math teacher cried.” 

Megan is suddenly massively empathetic for any teacher Luc ever had in his entire life. 

“How about you just give me Crash and Maja and Loops’ phone numbers, and I’ll get them on a conference call and we can set this up as a nonprofit.” 

There’s a sulky silence. “Ok, but, like, I know why you want to do that, bro, but also if we do it will be a whole Thing and official and it won’t be a super secret rebel alliance any more.” 

“Luc.” 

“Okay, fine, I’ll text it to you. Hey, I gotta go to dinner.” 

“That’s fine, Luc, we’ll get this sorted, okay.” 

“For sure, bro, thanks, you’re awesome, okay bye -- HEY, HOLLY, YOU FUCKER WAIT UP I NEED TO GET MY COAT.” 

The call goes dead. Megan stares blankly at her screen for a whole minute, then shuts her computer off, puts on her own jacket, and walks out to her car. 

By the time she gets home there’s a text from Luc with three phone numbers. There is no explanation of which number is whose, but Megan doesn’t guess it really matters too much. 

_thanks_ she texts him back, while her lasagna goes around in a circle in the microwave, and then she buries her face in Reggie’s fur and screams again. Softly. 

_I’m still your fave client tho right?_ Luc texts her back

Megan thinks about Luc’s _super secret rebel alliance_, about a network of women stashing surfboards in storage units all around the globe for each other. 

_Yes_ she texts back _you’re still my fave client_

Luc texts her back three smiley face emojis, a dog, a surfboard, a business lady, a fleur de lis, three unicorns, and a yoga lady. 

Megan sets her phone down, turns on _The Office_, and smiles, despite herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crash and Loops' conversation about the spreadsheets totally inspired by Valenti in this article: https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/02/07/magazine/women-surf-big-wave.html


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay last one! Except somehow along the way writing this it turned into a 4+1 thing, so one more by the weekend.

It’s September, in Manhattan, and raining. Megan’s feet hurt. Her head hurts and her shoulders hurt, but mostly her feet, because she’s been in fucking heels all day. She’s been day dreaming of her loafers since 9:45 this morning, barely an hour after she’d been seized by some rare urge and grabbed the pair of heels she’d thrown into her luggage _just in case_. Jess had laughed at her and said, “you’re going to regret that,” when Megan had called her during her planning period, and unsurprisingly, she’d been right. She’s got three days on this business trip and then she’s home two months with no travel at all, and next weekend she and Jess are going _apple picking_. Megan’s counting down the days. 

She shakes her umbrella out before stepping into the restaurant -- a nondescript looking place that she knows from experience has great spicy kimchi tofu soup, but more importantly -- a quiet, private backroom with a reservation sign stuck on the shut door and firm belief in privacy. 

Megan orders tea because the sake will come later and she’s cold from the rain, sitting down between Paula and Elana. Cinn’s already seated at the head of the table -- she gives Megan a wave in hello. It looks like the only one they’re missing is Dan. And considering that it’s the NHL’s Media Day, that’s not surprising. When Dan comes through the door and takes the last seat on the other side of the table, Megan’s already ordered and received her soup, and is talking escrow accounts with Paula. Cinn stands and the small talk dies down. 

“Welcome, everyone, to the Semi-Annual Meeting of Professionals Responsible for the Care and Keeping of Luc Chantal.” 

“Go SAMPRCKLC!” Nate and Stacie shout because Luc’s _contagious_.

Cinn, bless her, answers with an automatic “WOOT WOOT” and then slides seamlessly back into Presentation Voice. “As you know, it’s been a big year. We survived WatchGate.” 

“Sure, _we_ survived WatchGate, but did Dan’s husband’s ass?” Amanda jokes. 

Daniel smiles, and raises his cup of tea in a salute before murmuring, just barely loud enough that Megan can hear him, “It’s still a little pink.”

Daniel, The Nordiques' stoic, button-downed PR manager had always been a little bit of a closed book, until one fateful Christmas party when his husband, a petite brown-haired man named Kris, about ten years younger than Dan, had confessed to Megan and Cinn and Nate that Luc Chantal was his favorite hockey player because “every time Dan wants to strangle him at work he comes home and turns my ass red with our paddle instead.” He’d then proceeded to _wink_ at them all and sauntered off to flirt blatantly with Henrik Tallberg while Dan stood there, just faintly pink across the top of his cheekbones. And then Dan had _smirked_, just a little, taken a sip of champagne and said, “He’s a brat,” in the dryest, most perfectly timed delivery, wicked, and fond and smug and a little bit besotted. 

“_Most of us_ survived WatchGate.” Cinn corrects, laughing. “We survived the entire summer’s worth of Instagram stories. We survived Luc’s _aggressive_ critique of the judging at Billabong Pico Alto. We survived the Annual Chantal Jersey Dance Routine Competition making it onto ESPN3--"

"You only have yourself to blame for the existence of that," Paula jokes and Cinn does a flourishy little bow and a wink in response. 

"We survived Luc _showing up_ to the Annual Chantal Jersey Dance Routine Competition." Dan corrects. 

“Please.” Elana rolls her eyes. “We survived Luc Chantal _Ex-Boyfriend of Honor_ and his multi-continent series of bachelor and bachelorette parties for Anthony and Svetlana year before last, we can survive anything.” 

Megan, surreptitiously, knocks on the wood of her chair. 

"You can all speak for yourselves," Nate gripes, "I _barely_ survived Luc's trip to hicksville Alberta. That bull almost killed me." He glares at Megan. "Why would you give that man _cows_?"

"Why would you _tell_ him about them?" Amanda laughs. 

"Oh, sure. Laugh it up, you haven't woken up in cold sweats because Luc Chantal doesn’t read his emails in years."

"It's true," Amanda agrees, "I'm only here for the drinks."

"And to laugh at our pain."

"And that."

"So." Cinn pulls everyone back on track. "Let's celebrate our victories tonight, my friends. To Luc Chantal!"

"To Luc Chantal!" They cheer. 

"That infuriating little shit," Dan adds to a second round of applause. 

“And now, Annette is going to give us a run through on what the planning and zoning board said about the greenhouse additions. Then I think, Megan, you’re giving us your five point plan for Hockey Fights DV this year, and then Dan and I have put together our strategy for The Christmas Card Contingencies so we can avoid anything like last year. Annette,” Cinn takes her seat, handing the laser pointer over, “you have the conn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I will be replying to comments soon, I've just been ridiculously busy and stressed out, sorry guys. I love everyone of them and you <3<3<3<3


	5. Chapter 5

If she wasn't so unfairly _fond_ of him, she'd be annoyed, because he was definitely asleep. Luc Chantal, dressed in a blue two piece suit, pin dot tie shoved into a pocket and shirt collar unbuttoned, had fallen asleep mid quarterly review. His eyelashes rested against his cheeks, his lips just barely open; slouched over in one of her plush office chairs with his salt and pepper hair falling over his brow, he was softly snoring. 

"Luc!"

Those absurd eyelashes fluttered open. "C’est bon." He smiled at her like he hadn't been dead asleep two seconds before, "Good idea, Megs, go for it." 

"Luc. You were asleep."

"I was listening. Just resting my eyes " 

"You were snoring." 

He shrugs and smiles at her, not fussed at all of being called out. "Up late last night watching Sasha’s match in Sydney." 

Megan smiles, “How’d he do?” 

Whatever Luc is going to answer, he halts and gestures to her phone that’s ringing, “No worries, take that.” 

“This is Megan,” she says when she picks up. 

“Ms. Nunez? My name is Dr. Camila Rodriguez. I’m an emergency physician at Good Samaritan.” 

“Hi,” Megan says, “how can I help you?” because she doesn’t recognize the name and she hasn’t been accepting new clients for years. 

Dr. Rodriguez has a no-nonsense voice, not hard, exactly, but firm and straightforward, like a woman who doesn’t much like to waste time on frivolities, and Megan is _thankful_ for clarity of it when she says, “Your wife, Jess Sandhu, had a heart attack.” 

“Oh my god,” Megan hears herself say, from far away, as the floor drops out from under her. “I… is she. Is. Is she okay?” It’s a stupid question, it’s a stupid question, but she needs it to be…

“She’s been resuscitated,” Dr. Rodriguez says, after a pause, and it does not escape Megan’s notice that she definitely hadn’t said she was okay. “She has a heart beat, and she’s going to surgery now. Dr. Govera will be putting in a stent. She may need to do more, but she won’t know until she gets her in there. Are you in the city?”

“I’m… yes, I’m just downtown, I’ll...I’ll be there right away, I’m leaving right now.” She’s standing and for a second she can’t figure out why she can’t move but it’s because her phone was plugged in, charging, and she’s wrapped up in the cord, and -- “I’ll be right there.” 

“You can head straight up to the cardiology unit, Dr. Govera will come out and meet you when she’s done with the surgery, and I’ll meet you in the waiting room there to tell you what I can.”

“Thank you, I’ll be right there.” 

“You’ll be at least 30 minutes, in traffic.” Dr. Rodriguez says in that same straightforward tone. 

“I’ll be as fast I can, please.” She doesn’t know what she’s asking for. “Please.”

“Ms. Nunez. I’m not going to say that everything is okay, but your wife is stable at the moment. She’s breathing, she has a heartbeat, and she’s about to be treated by one of the best cardiologists on the West Coast. She’s in good hands. Drive safely, and I’ll see you when you get here.” 

Somehow Megan manages to wrench the phone free of the cord. “I’m sorry, Luc,” she remembers to say, “I have to go, right now, I’ll… we can reschedule, and I’ll.” 

“Megs.” Luc takes her phone and keys from her hands. “Slow down.” 

“I have to go to the hospital, Luc, give me my keys.” 

“I know you do,” he says, soft and calm, so freaking calm,.“We’re going to get you there, right away, but you’re not driving, Megs. I’ll drive.” 

“You don’t need….”

“Megan. I’m driving. Get your coat.” 

Megan grabs her jacket from the back of the chair. Dimly, she realizes Luc has her purse in one arm. 

“Come on, Megs, which hospital?”

“Good Samaritan,” she answers automatically, mind still spinning. 

Luc shuts the lights off and pushes her out the door. “Lisa,” he says, “we’re leaving. Anyone calls for Meg, tell them to fuck off.” 

Megan doesn’t correct him. 

Luc drives and Megan stares out the window, mind spinning. Finally she gasps, “Oh god, I’ve got to call Mia.” Their daughter’s at Brown, and Megan… doesn’t…. She’s so far away. What if she calls her and can’t get home in time.

Luc says, “Call her once you’ve talked to the doctor.” and Megan sighs in relief, lets her head drop against the window. 

Luc drives up to the door of the hospital, says, “Go on, I’ll park, and find you.”

Dr. Rodriguez tells her a series of terrible facts by the time Luc joins them. Jess had a 75% blockage. Jess stopped breathing. Jess was _dead_ for a whole minute. Jess’s life was saved by someone at the Urban Bee Keeping club who knew CPR, and then again by the EMTs and then again by Dr. Rodriguez. 

Megan wants to cry but for some reason her eyes won’t water. They’re too shocked open, glassy and useless and all she can do is sit there and stare at the wall. 

“Call Mia,” Luc says, gently, and oh, he’s still there, sitting in a shitty little plastic hospital chair next to her in the waiting room of the cardiology department. 

“I don’t…” She doesn’t know if she can keep her voice together enough to not _scare_ Mia too much. She’s supposed to be strong, but she’s never felt more lost. 

Luc says, “Just pretend you’re trying not to freak out with me on the phone. Pretend I just told you I spent $500,000 on an orchid.” 

“You would never.” Megan could imagine Luc telling her spent $500,000 on a lot of things, but an orchid isn’t one of them. 

Luc huffs, “Pretend.” 

Megan takes three breaths. She closes her eyes. She takes another three breaths and calls her daughter. She sounds calm, capable, and strong, like a rock, not like a wave that’s breaking apart onto nothing against it. “It’ll be okay, baby,” she tells her daughter, “your mom will be okay,” when Mia starts crying. “Can you get a friend to take you to the airport?”

“Hols will me take me.” Mia sniffles. “I’ve got my emergency credit card, she’s looking at flights right now.” 

“Text me your flight info when you have it,” Megan tells her. “I love you, baby.” 

Somehow, she gets through it. And then she gets through calling Jess’s brother, in Chicago. She calls her own sister in Seattle, and makes it all the way through that call too. 

Dr. Govera comes out, little paper surgery hat still on her head, and tells her that Jess is alive. That’s she’s stable. That she put two stents in Jess’s arteries. That she’ll probably need bypass surgery eventually, but the stents have her heart working now, and Dr. Govera finds that emergency bypass surgeries have increased complications risks, so she’s happy they were able to just do the stents, right now, and can deal with the bypass when Jess is healthier and recovered. She’s being moved to the ICU and once they get her situated there, Megan should be able to see her. 

They move waiting rooms, two floors up. Megan’s mind keeps circling around to Dr. Govera saying “when she’s healthy enough.” Not, “if”. “When.” Dr. Govera, with her firm handshake and confident set to her shoulders, said, “when.” Because Jess is going to get better. 

Megan starts crying. 

“Oh, hey, c’mon Megs,” Luc says and pulls her into a hug. Megan weeps through all the layers of Luc’s blue suit, shaking while he keeps his arm around her. 

Finally, pulls herself together. Luc hands her a handful of tissues and a Gatorade. 

She wipes her eyes and blows her nose and drinks the Gatorade.

A nurse comes out and tells her she can go in and see Jess.

Jess is gray and sleeping with tubes and cords everywhere. Megan hates it. Luc puts her bag down in a chair and disappears and Megan holds Jess’s hand and cries some more. 

Luc comes back about an indeterminable time later and wordlessly hands her a sandwich and a bottle of water. 

Megan suddenly realizes it’s _late_. 

“I’m not leaving,” Megan tells the nurse stubbornly when she comes in to check something or the other. The nurse brings her a blanket. 

“Oh god, Roxie,” Megan remembers, “she needs to be let out, and fed, and… I’ll go and then come back, and.” 

“I’ll go feed your dog,” Luc says, “It’s fine, Megs, Roxie knows me and she’ll be miserable if someone doesn’t get her soon. Stay here with Jess.” 

“Luc, thank you, you didn’t need to…” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Megan wakes up around 6 a.m. She didn’t fall asleep until after 1, hand still wrapped around Jess’s, head resting at Jess’s side. She wakes up a little after 6 because Jess is squeezing her hand.

“Megs,” she says, voice weak and dry and cracky. 

“Jess, oh my god.” Megan wants to kiss her but she probably can’t. She kisses her hand instead and Jess curls her fingers. “Jess, baby,” Megan cries. 

Around 7 the nurse comes in and at 7:30 Mia comes in, red eyed and frazzled in a t-shirt and sweatpants, Luc five steps behind her. 

Mia says, “Oh my god, mama,” and runs to Jess’s bed. 

“How’d you get past the ICU nurse,” Megan asks Luc after she’s hugged Mia for what feels like a solid minute. She’s glad to see him, but the morning nurse seems a little stricter than the night one. And he’s got his hands full, a cardboard coffee carrier, a brown paper bag, and a big canvas tote bag.

“Oh, I just lied and said I was Jess’s ex-husband.” Luc shrugs.

“Oh, damn,” Jess says, “There goes my gold star.” Her voice still sounds so weak and reedy, but it makes Megan’s heart lurch with joy to hear her cracking a joke. 

Mia snorts and squeezes Jess’s other hand. 

Luc grins at her. “We split amicably, I’m sure you’ll be relieved.” 

“They _believed you_?” Megan’s happy he’s here, he’s been a rock, honestly, but she can’t believe no one recognized him. 

Luc laughs, “Oh, not at all, but I was here last night with you, and with Mia this time, and pretending they believed me gave them an excuse to not say no to Mia, so. Megs, your friend Laurie’s got Rox, she’s the one that normally dog sits for you right?. She said she’d come by and see you guys later, when you can have more visitors, but until then don’t worry about Rox. And she packed an overnight bag for you her with a toothbrush and a change of clothes and stuff. And Mia’s got your keys. And here’s non-terrible hospital coffee.” He hands her one of the cups of coffee and the paper bag. Megan peers into it and finds a breakfast sandwich. 

“Didn’t you bring one for me?” Jess jokes. 

“Ha,” Luc says, “funny, Amazing-Jess. That nurse would murder me if I brought you coffee and eggs. You get sad jello.”

“Actually, she gets ice chips,” Megan says. 

“Cruel,” Jess mutters, and then falls asleep in the space of seconds. 

“The doctor says she’s going to be really tired,” Megan tells Mia as Mia leans against her for a hug. 

“Jess’s brother’s flight lands in about half an hour, so he should be here soon and your sister called, she’s about an hour and a half out. Megs, I gotta head out to catch my flight.” 

“You were supposed to leave yesterday.” Megan remembers. 

Luc shrugs, “It’s no big deal, Megs.”

The morning feels so much less terrifying than the uncertainty of last night. Jess is so _weak_ but she’s alive and smiling and she’s going to _get better_. Megan had been so caught up in the fear of losing Jess last night but Luc had been there the whole time. A steady pillar of friendship keeping her from being alone through the darkest hours, until her family could get here. 

“Luc. Thank you, seriously, I couldn’t have asked for a better… You didn’t need to...” 

“Megs,” he cuts her off, “you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count. We’ve been friends for 25 years. The least I can do is run a few errands.” 

That’s not even close to what he did, but she just squeezes his hand and he grins at her. 

“Tell Jess when she wakes up I told her she has to be better enough by our next quarterly to go on that bird walk thing she was talking about.” 

“I will,” Megan says, “I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ask me stuff at superstitionhockey on tumblr!
> 
> Always many thanks to dangercupcake for fixing my commas!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Quarterly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708139) by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods)


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